


Seasons of Love

by snarky_saxophonist



Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-10
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2019-07-28 22:21:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16250948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarky_saxophonist/pseuds/snarky_saxophonist
Summary: It's the earliest playoff exit of Willy's career.And it's all Kyle's fault.





	Seasons of Love

**Author's Note:**

> As per usual, this is a work of fiction and is not intended to reflect real life in any way. If you or someone you know personally is tagged in this, please close out now.
> 
> I'm still upset about the end of the season and I don't want to face the fact that the offseason exists now.

Kyle can’t think of a time he’s ever wanted to leave the clubhouse less.

When they were swept in 2015, all he wanted to do was go home. He wanted to curl up with his cat and sleep for a week and not think about baseball for months. After 2016, he hadn’t wanted to leave, because leaving meant having to leave the bubble of sheer joy wrapped around them, but he’d still gotten to take the knowledge of winning with him. And in 2017, he’d felt done. He’d been disappointed, of course, but not this same gut punch of disappointment and anger.

But this… He hadn’t even started the Wild Card game, and the loss is still his part. He couldn’t even get through two fucking innings without giving up the game for them. The bullpen had held the line, Hamels had been great in relief, and then Kyle had come in and shit the bed.

Everyone’s hugging and talking up each other, but Kyle keeps himself a bit distant from it. He hugs his teammates and reminds them of how much he’s loved playing with them and how good they’ve been all season. He doesn’t stick around long enough for them to reciprocate, though, because he can’t bear to hear empty platitudes. He knows the team would never blame him outwardly, despite what they must all be thinking. Tie game, the biggest game of the season, and he couldn’t keep his shit together.

A familiar warmth hugs Kyle from behind, and he cracks a faint smile despite himself. “Hey, Willy.”

“Are you ready to go home?” Willy asks. Kyle shifts so that he’s hugging Willy face to face, frown deepening when he sees the tight lines of pain still around Willy’s eyes.

“I thought you said it was just a cramp,” Kyle says. “You’re still hurting.”

Willy shrugs slightly, finally letting go of Kyle. “It’s not like they had anybody else to replace me at that point. And I have all the time in the world to rest now.”

Even with Willy’s face turned a little away from him, Kyle can tell there’s a hint of bitterness beneath his words.

“Then yeah, let’s go home.” Kyle takes both his bag and Willy’s over one shoulder, using the other arm to wrap around Willy’s waist. He takes one last look at the clubhouse behind him, where Schwarbs is hugging Almora like they’re never going to see each other again. Kyle can’t be upset, not now, because Willy’s hurt and upset and they’ll all be back later this week to clean out their lockers. It’s not his right to be upset, not when all of this is on him.

 

“Do you need me to help you stretch out?” Kyle asks, gently steering Willy towards the elevator instead of the stairs like it seemed he was intending when they get to their apartment building.

“No, I just want to sleep. The trainers said it was only a mild strain and it should be fine if I just take it easy,” Willy says. He’s still walking a little gingerly on it, leaning into Kyle more than when he’s usually just being affectionate.

“Okay. If you need anything, you’ll let me know?” Kyle asks. If he couldn’t keep from ending the team’s season, he can at least make sure Willy recovers well.

“As long as you do too.” Willy takes the key from Kyle’s pocket, unlocking the door ahead of him. 

Kyle scoots in after Willy, closing the door behind himself and leaning back against it. “I didn’t get hurt tonight.”

Willy’s look tells Kyle that his boyfriend doesn’t believe him in the slightest. It’s only Max launching herself at Willy while meowing loudly that keeps Kyle from what’s certain to be a severe tongue lashing.

Instead, Kyle heads for the bedroom so he can start unpacking their gear bags. Thanks to him, they won’t be needing them again until next season. At least they’ll have a few more weeks together before Willy goes back home, while he heals up and before he’d planned to see his family again. Kyle doesn’t even know what he wants to do with his own offseason. Stay in Chicago, probably. He doesn’t particularly relish the thought of going back to his parents’ place in California. He only wishes Willy could stay here with him.

“Kyle!” Willy calls across the apartment. Kyle can feel his heart dropping into his stomach, because this could be the moment when Willy reveals he’s been seeing through Kyle the whole night. “Want me to feed Max?”

“Yes, please!” Kyle calls back, feeling a rush of relief at the simplicity of the statement. He doesn’t need Willy’s concern over him tonight. 

Abandoning his unpacking when Willy comes into the bedroom, Kyle jerks a hand at the bathroom.

“I’m gonna go take a shower. Could do with some hot water after pitching today,” he says, keeping his tone as light as possible. Willy frowns, evidently concerned. “I’m not hurt, I promise. Just tired and a little sore.”

Kyle doesn’t bother waiting to see if Willy buys his explanation, just sets down his phone on the dresser and turns away. He’s nearly to the door of the bathroom when Willy speaks again.

“Stop.” Willy’s voice is barely above a whisper, but there’s hurt beneath it. Slowly, Kyle turns back, reluctantly meeting his boyfriend’s gaze. He stands in place for a long moment, closing his eyes for a beat and taking a deep breath before looking back at Willy, letting a bit of his emotion show through.

Willy takes a few steps across the room, grasping both of Kyle’s hands and keeping their gazes locked. “What’s going on? Don’t try to tell me something isn’t wrong. You’re hurt, aren’t you?”

Kyle shakes his head wordlessly. “I’m fine. Just worried about you.”

“Worried about me?” Willy repeats. “Why would you be worried about me?”

“Oh gee, I don’t know!” Kyle says, the emotions he’s been pushing back since Wolters’ at bat rising to the surface. “You got hurt tonight, stayed in the damn game despite that, and you’re clearly upset!”

Instead of defecting it as Kyle had hoped, Willy only looks more worried. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Nothing, I’m just worried! Wouldn’t you be if it were me?”

“I told you I’m fine. And it’s not like there was any option but for me to stay in. I had to try to give us a chance at winning the game,” Willy defends himself.

Kyle drops his gaze, gently freeing his hands from Willy’s. “Not like it mattered anyways. I just want you to be okay, Willy.”

“Not like it mattered anyways?” Willy’s eyes narrow, and he gently pokes Kyle in the arm until he looks up. “You know this isn’t your fault, right?”

“I never said that,” Kyle deflects, but Willy’s already shaking his head.

“But you were thinking it,” Willy says. “And you shouldn’t. It’s on us, not you. We should’ve scored more than one run.”

“Win as a team, lose as a team?” Kyle says sarcastically. “Sure, except that all the other teammates who pitched held the line and I couldn’t. So they kept us in the game as a team, while I blew it for all of us. Don’t tell me I can’t be pissed at myself about that.”

“Do you blame any one of us for not even managing to hit a solo homer to walk it off?” Willy asks.

Kyle can feel his lips thin at the question. “That’s false equivalency. The whole team wasn’t doing much offensively, and you at least got on base. Those bat flips? Hottest thing I saw tonight.”

“Don’t try to distract me,” Willy shoots back. “We’re a team. If we’d scored runs, you wouldn’t have had to pitch. We still could’ve scored in the bottom of the 13th. It’s not your fault, any more than it’s all my fault, or Kris’s, or Javy’s, or Jon’s. It’s not on you.”

“But offense is on everyone. Pitching and keeping them from scoring is all on me. And I failed at that, and now our season’s over and nobody’s going to say it, but it’s on me.”

“Nobody’s going to say it because it’s not true!” Willy insists, dragging Kyle over to the bed and sitting down on his lap. “You’ve been brilliant all season. None of this is on you.”

“I mean, I could’ve pitched better and won us one more game, and we’d be playing on Thursday instead of yesterday and today. We’d have at least three more games this season, but I couldn’t even give us that,” Kyle says. “It’s different for you, you’re a position player. I only have a few shots a season to give us a chance to win. I have to do my part, and this season I didn’t, so now we’re going home at the very beginning of October instead of having another shot at the World Series.”

“And how many one run games did we lose, where any of us could’ve tied it up with one swing?” Willy counters. “Kyle, I know you know better than this. Don’t do this to yourself.”

“I know I can pitch better than I did tonight, too! And I didn’t! And this is on me, and I don’t need you to try to tell me differently.”

“Kyle!” Willy looks genuinely upset now, features twisted with anger. “Why won’t you believe me? Don’t you trust me?”

“Of course I trust you, it’s just…” Kyle sighs, looking away. He doesn’t expect Willy’s kiss, but it does startle him into smiling.

“It’s hard, I know,” Willy says sympathetically. “I feel the same way. But you can’t bring this with you through the whole offseason. You gotta be hungry for next year, not disappointed and upset like this.”

“I know,” Kyle says. 

“As long as you know. Just don’t keep it all bottled up.”

“I won’t. And it’ll probably be better tomorrow. It just sucks a lot tonight,” Kyle says, wrapping his arms around Willy and holding his boyfriend close.

Willy hums in agreement, putting a hand on Kyle’s cheek and rubbing his thumb back and forth. The touch is grounding, and Kyle can’t help but lean into it as he takes what feels like his first dep breath since the game. 

Judging by Willy’s smile, he notices the shift. “Found it?” he asks, putting a hand over Kyle’s heart and taking an exaggerated deep breath along with Kyle.

“I’ve found you,” Kyle says, dodging the question in favor of dropping a kiss to Willy’s head. He hasn’t found his center, not yet, but he’ll get there. And if he stumbles on the way, Willy’s gonna be dragging him until they’re both ready and hungry to compete and win another damn championship next year.


End file.
